The Hunt is a Prayer

It begins in silence;

not an empty silence

but in the hush of trees listening,

the whisper of snow pressed flat by hooves,

the crow who gives nothing away,

the wind that carries only breath.

-

We do not enter the forest as strangers.

We enter as though we are one,

our shadows braided like sweetgrass in the branches,

our heartbeat folded into the distance drum

of the river thawing in the distance.

We were not unseen because we hid;

we were unseen because we joined.

-

Every hunt is a prayer.

The deer's breathing is one with my own,

it's pulse is my pulse.

When Creator placed us here,

it was not to conquer but to tend,

to take only what answers,

the mothers and young left peaceful,

to carry home just enough.

-

Sometimes, the arrow will strike true.

With the piercing of the flesh,

the gratitude is stronger than the hunger.

We kneel, we offer, we thank.

You give, and so we live.

-

Sometimes, the arrow falls short.

Then we walk home lighter,

not empty,

for the humility feeds us, too.

The lesson of enough is still a gift.

-

The hunt ends as it begins:

with breath,

with silence,

with the circle unbroken.

Not domination.

Not conquest.

Not annihilation.

But a promise of communion.